


How Strange, Innocence

by tigers_bedtime



Category: Friday Night Lights
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 19:32:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1481404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigers_bedtime/pseuds/tigers_bedtime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Tyra and Landry spend their summer after the Mud Bowl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Strange, Innocence

**Author's Note:**

> Backdated work [2008]

"Got any plans for the summer, Tyra Collette? Gonna play workin' girl over at Applebee's?"

"Mm. What're you doin' this summer, Landry? Stayin' at home, eatin' mac and cheese, watchin' _Xena: Warrior Princess_..."

"Yeah, you think you're so- "

"...typin' away on your little calculator..."

"Hey, that's- that's an unfair assumption right there. I'll have you know I just got a job. A real job. And yes, it pays money." He points at me with a french fry.

"Oh yeah? See I thought sombody'd be gettin' paid to baby-sit you."

Two weeks into the hottest goddamn summer Dillon's ever seen, Landry called this morning to see if I wanted to grab lunch at The Alamo Freeze. I shrugged with one shoulder and held my cell on the other. Sure, I'd go. Seems to me neither of us has a lot of friends at the moment, which pretty well suits me fine. People in this town really piss me off sometimes, anyway.

"No. No, Tyra. Real man's work." He grins and spreads his hands out. "You're lookin' at the future employee of the month- nay, year –at Lowell's."

He can't be serious. "The bowling alley."

"Yeah," he shakes his head, chewing on his fries, "what, you got somethin' to- "

"You're workin' at Lowell's Lanes."

"Yeah, that's what it's called. Is there something wrong about me working at a respected recreational establishment?" I snort, and a little bit of Diet Pepsi comes out of my mouth. "Oh, that's real nice, Tyra. Thanks for your overwhelming support." He hands me a napkin with a look of disgust, and I'm really trying not to laugh.

That's how summer starts - real easy with no drama. Maybe it'll keep that way, pending Mama stays happy and reasonably sober, Mindy doesn't take up with some asshole, and #33 keeps out of my hair. I really could get used to it, but I won't hold my breath.

***

For the next few weeks Landry stops by 'Bee's after lunch rush, just a couple days a week, parking his piece of crap excuse for a car in the dusty lot, and today's no exception. He's wearing his Lowell's polo, which says _Roll on in and roll a few!_ on the back in big maroon letters.

"Landry, why'd you have to go and park that embarrassment on wheels where people could see it?"

"Hey, now, don't hate. That hotrod gets me where I'm goin'." Not for the first time today I roll my eyes at him as I pick up my tip before I go on break.

He asks, "Romeos treat you well today?"

A group of regulars - old men who'd dubbed themselves "The Romeo Club" – had started out as a church support group for guys who'd been widowed, but it kinda became an excuse for any crusty old bachelor to come along every Tuesday afternoon for coffee, brownie sundaes, and a little harassment of the hired help. They call me things like "sugar bean" and their "little Applebee's apple blossom," but they leave a nice tip. Anyway, I'd take these guys over the losers at The Landing Strip any day.

"Oh yeah. Ten buckaroos." I wave the bill at him.

"Holy cow. Dare I ask what you did to earn such a generous tip?" We go through the side door and walk around back, where the girls usually go for a smoke.

"Shut up, Landry."

"No, seriously, what can a man get for fifteen?" I stop and punch him hard on the arm.

"Ow!" He looks around, and then whispers, "Ow, Jesus, Tyra, was that completely necessary?"

"A gentleman doesn't say things like that to a lady." And I keep walking.

He's rubbing his arm. "Well, this gentleman may or may not have brought this lady homemade ice cream from Bud's, which is quickly melting in said gentleman's car. But I guess if I'm just- just a no-good _scoundrel_..."

"Oh, be still my Texas heart," I say sarcastically. But still, it's ice cream, and I grab his hands and pull him to the car. "It better be peach."

Later, I reluctantly slide off the hood of his car and wipe my fingers on my apron.

"You wanna come to dinner over at Matt's grandma's house tonight?" he asks.

I pick at my Rite Aid nail polish. "Uh, I don't know. I've got stuff to do." The truth is, I've been hanging out with Landry Clarke way more than I could have predicted, and that thought is pretty damn sobering. I don't want to give the wrong impression to the guy, or to anyone else for that matter.

He looks at me skeptically. "What stuff? What, you gotta get a manicure? You haven't had anything to do all summer. Besides, I thought you and Matt's grandma were like bosom buddies or somethin'."

"Look, maybe I just wanna stay in, okay?"

"Okay, fine, it's not like I'm not used to getting ditched," he says as he crosses his arms and leans against the car.

"Aw, has Matt been a bad girlfriend this summer?" I know Landry hasn't seen much of Dillon's second-favorite quarterback lately. The four of us did go out to the diner to chill once, but it wasn't like a double-date or anything, because that would be weird on so many levels.

He rolls his eyes. "Oh, you know. I think him and Julie are so relieved she's not movin' away that it's increased their need for cuddle time. I've been kinda knocked off the radar, if you know what I mean." He says it with a shrug, but I can tell it really does piss him off.

I push him on the shoulder. "It's just puppy love. They'll grow outta this stage soon enough."

"Yeah." He kicks at some gravel, unconvinced.

I squint against the afternoon sun and stare at a couple cars as they drive by the restaurant. Sighing, I say, "Fine, I'll come."

***

That night at the Saracen's, we're all full from Golden Skillet, and I'm helping Matt straighten up the kitchen. Lorraine seems to be having a hell of a good time with us four kids in the house. Her and Julie are giggling over an issue of Cosmo, and Landry's sitting there incredulously as they read stuff out loud.

"Guys, listen to this," Julie clears her throat and sits up in her chair.

"No. Nope, I'm done. I don't have to subject myself to anymore of this she-poison." Landry pushes himself up from the table and heads over to the living room. "It's degrading to women, that's what it is. Y'all should be ashamed." He sits down dramatically and turns on _Jeopardy!_.

"You know who Landry reminds me of?" Lorraine says.

"Who?" I ask, wiping my hands on a dishtowel.

"That _Good Will Hunting_ fella, Ben Affleck."

Julie stares at her. "You mean, like, Matt Damon?"

"Yeah, that's the one." Matt snorts, but turns around before his grandma can notice. "Nice smile. Just a nice boy, even when he was a kid. I'm glad you're friends with him, Matthew."

"Yeah, Grandma, me too," he says as he throws away some paper plates.

***

There's only a couple weeks left until school. There are ads every day in the paper for shoe sales and who knows what else at Penny's and Wal-Mart; giant, god-awful pictures of smiling kids with backpacks and rulers. Keep smilin', kiddies. Wait 'til you get to high school – it's not all chocolate milk and nap time. Well, I still manage to get in a nap.

"You do know that I'm taller than you, right? I reserve the right to, at any time, bring up how I just kicked your sorry ass in miniature basketball." I grin.

Tonight's the Lion's Club lawn party, and it's me, Landry, Saracen, and Baby Taylor walking around like I used to do with the girls at the mall in middle school.

"Yes, I'm well aware of that fact. Thanks for pointing out yet another one of my deficiencies in masculinity. We can't all be Tim Riggins."

I laugh, "Stop talkin' like that."

"Oh, c'mon, Tyra. Let's not skirt around any issues here." I thought he was joking, but I guess he's not.

"What? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothin', forget it." I don't know what he's all miffed about. I certainly don't compare him to Riggins, because what the hell would be the point in that? Whatever.

We don't talk much for a while. It's not as fun as when it started, and Matt and Julie have disappeared. We ride the Scrambler three times, and I can't convince him to go on the crazy drop ride with me.

"Hey," I say later, stealing some of his cotton candy. "Win me an ugly stuffed animal."

He raises his eyebrows at me.

"Please, please, please? A _really_ ugly one?"

He grins. "The ugliest."

***

I've mostly stopped caring if people think it's weird, me and Landry hangin' out so much. Sure, he puts on a little too much cologne when he's nervous, and he likes anchovies and that's disgusting, and he really is a huge geek. But a girl doesn't forget a speech like the one at the banquet. And as much as I don't like to think about that night of the Mud Bowl, when I do it's just to remember how good he was, and how he was shaking too but I still felt closer to all right. Anyway, I stopped giving a shit about my reputation a long time ago, right?

"Let's go somewhere." It's Thursday afternoon, and I'm restless. I never make any plans – they usually all go to hell, for some reason or another – but this time, I wanna do something fun this last weekend of freedom before school starts, so I swung by the alley after work.

"Where?"

"I don't know. Let's just drive. Hey, didn't you just get your paycheck?" I flash him my shiniest, best smile.

"Yeah, see, some people like to put their hard-earned cash away into somethin' called a bank."

I roll my eyes. Landry can be such a tight-ass sometimes. "Live a little, Landry. It's summer, for god's sake. And I'm off early tomorrow."

"Somewhere it can collect interest. You do know what a bank is, don't you? Plus," he rubs his eyes, "I gotta ask my parents. And this doesn't sound like an activity they'd approve of, you know. Not enough structure, and all that."

"Landry Clarke, when a woman tells you to take her out, you don't ask any questions."

"And where's your paycheck, huh, little miss adventure? You can't just play these- these coy little female games of persuasion with me. I'm on to you. Don't think I don't know you're just using me for my money. I'm not your own personal Daddy Warbucks, okay, Tyra?"

I grab my purse and stand up. "Just pick me up after work tomorrow."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Six-thirty on the dot!" I can hear him muttering something about "minimum wage" and "respect," but I just ignore him as I smile and walk away.

***

I swat his hand away from the radio knobs for the second time, and he whines, "Hello, I'm the driver. Driver gets to pick the music."

"Look, I don't wanna listen to any of your crazy Jesus crap."

"Gee, Tyra, that's not offensive."

"So get your grabby little hands away from the radio and keep your eyes on the road. I'll take care of it."

He's all huffy, and a few moments pass before he says, "No Shania Twain."

"Okay."

"Fine."

We've got the windows rolled down because his car's got no freakin' air conditioning, and it'll cook you like a microwave unless you do somethin' about it. My hair's sticking to my lip gloss but I don't care. It feels good to just drive sometimes, with the sun setting in front of you, and Dillon behind, not thinking about anybody or anything.

"Hey, Landry?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you just get a haircut?" His eyes dart over to look at me.

"No, well, yeah. I mean, yeah, I did."

"It looks good."

"Thanks."

I see him looking all shifty at me again. "Did you, uh, paint your nails?"

"Yeah."

"Looks nice. Shiny. Catches the eye. Those little feminine touches..." I raise an eyebrow at him. "...you know, really make the ensemble."

Once we've been on the road for a bit, I ask, "So where're we goin'?"

"I don't know. This was your idea." He taps his fingers against the steering wheel to an old country song that reminds me of visiting my grandpa when I was a kid.

"How much gas you got?"

"Three quarters." Plenty. I grin and put my feet on the dashboard.

"Then keep on drivin'."

We make it a couple towns over and end up watching a double feature at an old drive-in. I buy a big box of Junior Mints and throw them through the car window and they land on his lap. He looks up at my smirk and says, shaking the box, "Oh, is this your contribution?"

The first movie's okay, but about ten minutes into the second one I get real tired, and I guess I started snoring because he's shaking me awake.

"Hey, you just wanna go?" I look at him sleepily and nod.

The drive back seems a lot longer, with just the hum of the car and sometimes the squeal of the radiator belt. I've still got the window rolled down; the air's a little cool and I have to pull my jean jacket up over my bare arms, but it feels nice on my face and on the tips of my fingers when I rest them over the edge.

This year's gonna be all right.


End file.
